


Archer

by Lokislittlearmy



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Virtual Reality, im havin some feelings and i wanted angst, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokislittlearmy/pseuds/Lokislittlearmy
Summary: It’s easy to find the forums. She scans over a few of the names, even finding her own.There’s a whole discussion thread about her. Kimiko Mori, SHSL Archer. The users describe her as mostly studious and determined, though it ranges to standoffish and bitchy. There’s one that says she “looks like she’s killed before.”Well, she’s tried. Just not using her talent.
Kudos: 1





	Archer

As the arrow flies, for the split second before it hits the hay bale, Kimiko lets her mind drift.

She thinks of what would have happened if she’d gone through with her plan four years ago. More accurately, what would have happened if she’d grabbed the right bottle. Her parents were sick, yes, and she was punished harshly, but life continued as normal.

If she had been smart about it, she would be free. Instead, she feels like the arrow. On a trajectory that, save for an unexpected gust of wind, will remain unchanged. She’s stopped feeling so trapped. Maybe it’s the compliance, the reduced use of the cage. 

But still, it’s nice to imagine a life drifting city to city. Maybe alone, maybe with another person. Another girl like her. Or just an animal. She’s never been allowed to have one, and she knows better than to ask for one. A hound dog, or an affectionate cat. Hell, she’d be happy with a ferret, she thinks, as long as it enjoys her company too.

As long as it’s not a bird. She’s shot down too many to see them as a friend. 

An image flashes through her mind. She’s looking up at the stars, with somebody held tightly in her arms. Her voice talks shakily about a bird she’s somehow seen in the stars. When she looks down at the girl in her arms, her violet eyes look up. She’s absolutely enraptured. 

The arrow hits the target perfectly. The image disappears. The crowd beside the range claps politely. With a practiced motion, she lowers her bow, turns, and bows. Her mind is already racing as the judges discuss. She knows her form wasn’t perfect, and what the hell was that image?

One of them holds up a sign. 9.6.

That’ll be four hours and no dinner. Fine. She’s spent days in that fucking cage, she can spend a few hours and go to bed hungry.

She stops by the table to pick up her paper with a polite “thank you.” Despite the fact that she’s now in first place, she wants to scream. It’s a wonder she hasn’t snapped already. 

In the end, she does win first place. She’ll move on to a higher level. It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t a perfect ten, so when she gets home she goes directly to the cage in her room.

She spends her time sulking. There’s not much else to do. She thinks about what she’ll do once she gets to Hope’s Peak, away from her parents and in the dorms. The Ultimates have private rooms, so she’s heard. They’ve told her all about what she’s to do, and she understands. She’s been conditioned in the art of self-discipline.

…The girl. Violet eyes and silver hair. Short enough that Kimiko towered over her, but that’s not saying much. Where did that image even come from?

At the end of the four hours, she hears the timer go off down the hall. Her mother comes in and unlocks the cage door. “Wait,” she says as Kimiko reaches for it. 

Her mother stands up. “Your father and I are going out for the night.” Oh. It’s the third Friday of the month already. “Because you won, we’ll allow you dinner. It’s already packaged in the fridge. No leaving the house, no texting, one hour of screen time-” She cuts herself off. “You know the rest, right?”

Kimiko nods. “Study for no less than ninety minutes. The cameras outside and in common areas will be on. Be in bed by eight. You and Dad will be home by ten.”

“Perfect. That’s my little girl.” She reaches through the bars and pats Kimiko on the head. 

Once her parents are gone, Kimiko takes a sigh of relief. Her room is safe from cameras. If she’s wrong about that, they’ve never said anything before. 

She heats up her dinner in silence, watches it rotate in the microwave. The peace isn’t oppressive now despite the camera in the corner. It’s times like this that she can imagine living here for the few months before Hope’s Peak year starts. Perhaps she’ll get on the forums and find out who her classmates will be.

It’s while she’s eating that she hears the doorbell ring. She ignores it at first. There’s no cars in the driveway, so whoever it is might assume nobody’s home. She’s wrong. It rings again.

The third time, she finally stands up and peeks out the window. A man is standing there calmly with a large bouquet of flowers. He’s dressed in a uniform, though she wouldn’t know where from. 

She runs to grab one of her arrows. Hiding it behind her back, she opens the door just enough to peek out. “Can I help you?” she asks as sweetly as she can.

The man gives her a bright smile. “Yes. I’m looking for Miss Kimiko Mori. I have a delivery from Sakura Ichigo.”

Curious. Kimiko opens the door a little more. “I’m sorry. Who is Sakura Ichigo?”

“Many apologies, Miss. I don’t have any details past names. Are you Miss Mori?” When Kimiko nods, he pulls out a little tablet. “Can I get a signature?”

Kimiko signs, a strange pit of dread settling in her stomach. It’s the fact that the door is open with her parents not home. She’s sure of it. The man takes the tablet and hands over the bouquet.

“Have a wonderful night, Miss!” The man walks away and down to a florist’s van on the street.

It leaves Kimiko standing in the doorway, a little shocked as the realization hits her. It’s dark out. What florist makes deliveries after five? Even as the van drives away, she doesn’t know what to make of it. How’s she going to explain the mystery bouquet to her parents?

She closes the door and heads to the kitchen with the flowers. It’s only after she’s put them in a spare vase under the counter that she reads the card attached.

_“Looking forward to our classes together! -Sakura Ichigo, SHSL Florist”_

Ah. That explains one question. A future classmate. It still doesn’t answer the question of “why now,” but maybe Kimiko was the last person on the list for the day. She’ll chalk it up to that. Honestly, if she thinks too hard about it, she’ll just get more questions than answers.

She props the vase up on the coffee table and opens her laptop. It’s easy to find the forums. She scans over a few of the names, even finding her own.

There’s a whole discussion thread about her. Kimiko Mori, SHSL ~~S̮̗̄͊͟͝n̥̖͍̬̾̀͒̏ǐ͔̥̣̂̆p̞̰̩̒̏̓̕͜e̛̜̤̘͗͆̃͟r̗̫̼̲̆̇͞͡~~ Archer. The users describe her as mostly studious and determined, though it ranges to standoffish and bitchy. There’s one that says she “looks like she’s killed before.”

Well, she’s tried. Just not using her talent. She pushes the thought aside and runs through the others. She expects some talents. Coach, florist, puzzle solver. Others are a little more strange in her eyes. Prophet, paranormal investigator, food critic. There’s an interrogator. Why the hell did Hope’s Peak decide to seek out an interrogator? She clicks on Satashi’s thread, but it looks like there’s not much.

“His father owns a big company. Maybe there’s some nepotism going on here.”

Maybe so, xXextr4Xx. Maybe so.

She clicks on Sakura’s thread. Looks like people define her as bubbly, outgoing, sweet. “She’s gonna be disappointed looking at some of her classmates.” 

That…yeah, maybe. Kimiko feels like she should do something as a nice gesture in return, but she has no idea what to do. There’s not much to do in her talent that wouldn’t be perceived as a threat. Unless. Well, actually, no, she has an idea.

She closes her laptop and heads to her room. She has a box for split arrowheads. It started when that was an accomplishment for her, but they’ve become constant enough that the box is now overflowing. She grabs a few and forces them into place for how she wants them, before wedging them into the arrow shaft’s tip. 

It looks like a flower. A flower with an abnormally long stem, but a flower. When she’s done, she realizes she’s spent way longer than she thought she would on that. She sets that arrow to the side and takes her books back out to the living room.

Her studies are easy, her homework done within half an hour. She spends the rest of the time letting her mind drift. The arrow. She wonders if it’s strange to give that gift.

Her mind gives her the second weird thought of the day. _For her? It’ll be fucking perfect._

…Hm. No idea what that’s supposed to mean. She files it away with the image of the girl.

Once she’s done with her studies, she hops back on the forum. Fifteen students, including herself. Something about that feels strange, but there’s no mention of it on the forum. Another note to file.

She gets ready for bed with ease. Braids her hair so it’s not so hard to brush in the morning. Gets in pajamas and brushes her teeth and washes her face. She feels almost normal and, for a moment, wishes this was her every night. 

Loneliness suits her, she thinks. She’s not sure how to talk to other people now, and it has her dreading her soon-to-be classmates. The silence of the house is patient. It feels like the moment just before she takes her shot, like the pause of breath and the swell of her lungs before she lets the arrow fly.

Those are the moments she’s got to cling to. 

She leaves the arrowhead rose on the desk and goes to bed.

In the morning, she pads out to the kitchen dressed for a practice day. Her father is standing at the counter, reading the card. He looks up at her as soon as she rounds the corner.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t sure what to do with that.”

“I checked the cameras,” he replies. It’s not an answer, but she’s not going to get one. “Why did you open the door?”

“The person wasn’t going away,” Kimiko says. She resists the urge to fidget. “I thought he might have the wrong address.”

Her dad nods. “Okay.” He folds the card back and holds it out to her, letting her take it tentatively. “It’s a pretty bouquet. We should send something back.”

The day passes simply. Kimiko packs a lunch and goes to the range to practice. Her trainer focuses on what cost her those four points. “Imagine you’re looking at the bullseye through a gun’s sights and move laterally. Your entire body.”

Strange metaphor. Familiar. She doesn’t make that mistake again, though, so she supposes it works.

When she gets home, her parents are cooking together. She sets her things down, washes her hands, and immediately gets to helping them. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“You’ll make it up later,” her dad says over his shoulder. “We can let it slide until after dinner.”

Kimiko looks up but continues chopping. “Did something happen today?” she asks. It’s not common that she’s not sent immediately. Maybe they just need an extra set of hands.

He nods. “Yeah. My coworker got sent to the hospital.”

Her mom sighs. “They think it was a heart attack, but they’re not sure. He’ll be okay, though. Don’t worry.”

Another thing to add to the list. The words send a hurt straight to her own heart, a fear settling deep down that she has no idea how to justify. As she’s still processing the panic, she cuts straight into her finger.

A swear passes her lips before she can stop it. She drops the knife to hold her hand, takes it away from the cutting board. Her mom is already at her side. “Are you okay?”

Kimiko nods, sniffling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry–” She backs up to the sink, where her mom guides her hand under cold water. “I was thinking about dad’s coworker.”

“He’ll be fine. Worry about yourself.” Her mom strokes her hair. A few minutes later, Kimiko still apologizing, she leaves her side to get the first aid kit. It’s her left hand, at least. It won’t affect her aim. 

Her mom puts a band-aid on the cut. “How about we take that half hour now?”

If she does, she’ll still have a plate for dinner. She nods. “Yes. Thank you.”

She feels out of her body as she goes to her room and clicks the padlock onto the cage door. Fuck, why did she feel so panicked about some guy? She’s never met him. She doesn’t know him.

She squeezes her eyes shut. Another fucking image forces them open. This time, the face is recognizable. It was the dollmaker on the forum–Kowa, she thinks. It’s just a flash. Him at the podium beside her, clutching his chest and falling to his knees. Despite the pain twisting his expression, he appears at ease. Something about his expression is…proud.

Kimiko looks around at her room. Everything’s fine. She’s fine. Aside from the second weird image she’s gotten in two days, everything’s totally normal. She’s definitely not hyperventilating or sobbing her eyes out. Why would she be terrified for someone she hasn’t even met yet? The idea, it’s…it’s ridiculous.

At dinner, she’s lost her appetite. She eats anyway. If her parents notice something wrong with her, they don’t talk about it. Sakura’s bouquet still sits on the coffee table. Kimiko’s not sure how long flowers last. She doesn’t recognize them.

“Do either of you know what kinds of flowers Sakura sent?” she asks abruptly. She’s careful to wait until a break in conversation, of course. It’s just the first thing she’s said since they sat down.

Her mom stands and gets the vase. She sets it down on the dining room table and sits back down in her chair as she rotates the vase. “Hm. Looks like they’re mostly a little rarer. That looks like…Oh, honey, what’s the word? Viscousa-”

“Viscaria?” her dad suggests. He motions to one of the tall pink flowers.

Her mom snaps her fingers. “That’s the one. This one is rainflower.” She points to the white flowers. “I think the purple ones are wolfsbane, but I’ve never seen that used in a bouquet. And the greenery looks like laurel.”

Viscaria, rainflower, wolfsbane and laurel. Kimiko nods. “Thank you. I was just curious.”

“Be careful not to touch the purple flowers, just in case they are wolfsbane.” Her dad moves his food around his plate. “We wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

…Huh?

After dinner, she heads to her room and opens her laptop. She looks up each flower, and sure enough they all have some little meaning.

Viscaria, an invitation to dance. Rainflower, meaning “I’ll never forget you” or better yet, “I’ll atone for my sins.” Weird. Laurel, ambition and success. She saves wolfsbane for last, and she’s not disappointed. It means a disgust for human nature, but that’s not really what she’s interested in.

_Most species are extremely poisonous and must be dealt with very carefully._

Bingo. She checks through everything else. If her parents go through her search history, she’ll explain it away as knowing for sure it must be something else and simply satisfying a dying curiosity. Truth is, she already has a plan.

She’ll have to think it through carefully. She can’t get her hands dirty with this, and she doesn’t want to drag Sakura into this. Some bubbly sweet innocent girl…that put wolfsbane in a bouquet? She must know.

_Of course she knows_ , comes another unbidden thought, and then the immediate flash of an image. Sakura staring down the barrel of a revolver, barely visible through tear-filled eyes. But smiling. Flower crown atop her head as if it’s a real one, she grins in the knowledge that she’s already won.

…Kimiko closes her laptop. This isn’t the first time she’s plotted a murder by far. It likely won’t be the last. 

The flashes get more frequent after that. A friend at school invites her to play billiards and she feels sick to her stomach, imagining it collapsed with someone beneath it. A trailer for a horror movie comes up and all she can think of is controlling the movie, how the paranormal investigator dies.

The sinking feeling gets stronger, especially once she realizes the common denominator. She knows every bit and doesn’t stop it. All she feels looking upon her friend’s bashed and tied body is disappointment mixed with relief. Hell, the only moment she feels true despair in all these moments is watching herself bolt down the hallway as the elevator door opens.

It was her, and she feels sick to her stomach just thinking about how hopeless she was. She’s tried to kill ( _she’s killed so, so many_ ). But the thought of killing these innocent people, having anything to do with their deaths, makes her want to lock herself in the cage and throw the key beyond reach.

The final straw is the activist.

_It always was._

She’s in her cage for a few knocked off points. She sits up, grips at the edge of the cold metal. Instead of the room, though, she gets the flash of a girl across from her, mask off, pointing at her. The podiums around them are noticeably empty with a portrait over each one. “You don't understand! I can't break Kimiko if it isn't powerful enough! Monsters like her need tragedy to feel anything!”

Much like she does in the flash, Kimiko breaks into a sob. Her head leans against the metal. She’s tired. So tired. 

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” she mumbles to nobody in particular. 

The silence is overpowering. It drills into her mind, the numbing realization that this is all fake sinking like a rock. And as she sits there, the feeling of metal disappears. She lifts her head up to find her head was resting on nicely polished wood, and the carpet beneath her finds just as much purpose against her nails.

Kimiko looks up and around. The podiums are all empty, save for two. The only two she hasn’t seen, in fact. But she knows who they are, she’s been waiting. Heidi and Ayumu. And suddenly, everything is in perfect clarity. Every memory, every name and face have a story.

Her final image pops through. The helicopter above, welcoming all three of them to the Future Foundation’s care.

She looks up through the bars of the podium. Silence fills the air once more, heavy and oppressive. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t deserve your mercy, or your care. I just need you to know how sorry I am.”

There’s still no response. Kimiko sobs and wipes at her face. “I. I don’t know why you two let me live. I don’t get it. I probably never will, because if I were in your shoes I’d vote both me and Sakura guilty and move on with my life. And you should have! You’d be right to. And you know it. You…you have to know I don’t deserve this.”

She doesn’t even need to look up. It’s all fake anyway. “…I don’t want to feel this despair anymore. I want to get better. But the things I’ve done, they don’t go away with an apology. No matter what, I still played an equal part in running a killing game, and that can’t be fixed. That’s why I can’t ask even that you let me live. I guess that all I can ask is that you do what’s best for yourselves.”

The world starts to fall apart after that. Next thing she knows, Kimiko is getting a headset pulled off of her face. The kind therapist that put it on her in the first place sets it to the side. She smiles. “Why do you think they let you live?”

Kimiko shrugs and wipes her face. “They’re naive.”

“Rephrase that for me.”

“…They want to see the best in everyone.” She looks down at her lap. “Even a mastermind.”

“But you said it yourself. You want to get better.” The therapist flips through her notes. “Heck, at the final trial you said you were excited for the future.”

“And I meant it. I just don’t understand. This is all so much more than I deserve.”

“I think that if you really meant that, you wouldn’t have given the other two the option to vote for just Sakura.” She glances at the clock. “That being said, it’s about time for dinner. If you’re hungry, anyway. I think we should take a break while I process your remission paperwork.”

Kimiko blinks. “My…what?”

“You’ll still meet with me and a specialist. But you’ll be considered in recovery for a while, until we can officially say that you won’t slip back into despair. It just means you’ll need supervision if you leave the Future Foundation grounds, that’s all.”

To be honest, she’s been waiting for them to execute her this whole time. Didn’t she just admit she was guilty? Sickness or not, she’s committed more murders than she can count, not to mention an arguable charge for torturous acts. “I-” She takes a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’m not in trouble?”

“Nope.” The therapist smiles. “You’ll have a hard path ahead of you, I’m sure. But we’re here to help you. And we won’t disclose the role you held in your game to anybody who doesn’t absolutely need to know. You’re a survivor like everybody else.”

Sounds fake, but okay. Kimiko shifts back in her seat and takes a moment to think. “…Okay. You, uh, mentioned paperwork?”

“Yep. We’ll take care of that.” She glances up at the clock. “I think Heidi should be out by now too.”

Sure enough, when Kimiko opens the door, Heidi looks up at her from the opposite wall and waves. Kimiko says an awkward goodbye to the therapist and steps outside. She shifts her weight. “Do you wanna get dinner?” she asks quietly.

Heidi pauses. “I’m not really hungry, to be honest.”

The silence between them is…strange. It’s not heavy, not freeing, it’s just kind of there. Kimiko huffs a little laugh to break it. “Me neither. I think I lost my appetite somewhere around the time Sakura came into the virtual reality.”

Surprisingly, that gets a little laugh out of Heidi. “I understand. Maybe we can just explore?”

Kimiko smiles. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”


End file.
